


The Dying Business

by thepointsdonotmatter



Category: Better Call Saul (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not sure if Lalo knows how to love but, Unhealthy Relationships, we'll try to get him there
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:00:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24160951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepointsdonotmatter/pseuds/thepointsdonotmatter
Summary: Nacho tries to gets close to Lalo, even as he knows the only way to freedom is in a body bag.
Relationships: Eduardo "Lalo" Salamanca/Ignacio "Nacho" Varga
Comments: 5
Kudos: 69





	1. Chapter 1

“Show me,” Lalo says, and Nacho drives them into the desert, and he tastes dust for days. 

“Show me,” and Nacho takes him to every Pollos Hermanos restaurant. 

He doesn’t really realize what he’s doing, going after the load, until he’s on the roof. The way he sees it, there’s a 50/50 chance Lalo will be pleased if he pulls this off. Either that, or he’ll rip him a new one for being reckless. 

He’s lucky. Lalo smiles the entire ride back to Nacho’s place, whistling occasionally. They pull into the driveway and Lalo switches off the ignition. He has that calm smile on his face that Nacho's learned to dread; there’s something about the silence that feels heavy, loaded. 

Lalo finally turns to him. “You did good,” he says, reaches over and pats his knee. “Tomorrow, we figure out what to do about Domingo.” 

Fring’s words ricochet in his skull. _Find a way. ___

__Nacho glances down at Lalo’s fingers engulfing his knee. Maybe it’s the last of the adrenaline in his system. Maybe it’s that this entire night has been fucking crazy and his chest is still tight, aching for a release. Maybe there’s a way he could play this. He’s fooled around before, when he was younger._ _

__“Sounds good,” he says. Lalo withdraws his hand. “Unless...”_ _

__“Unless,” Lalo repeats._ _

__He can’t make out Lalo’s expression in the blackness of the night, but his voice still shakes: “Unless, you wanna come in?”_ _

__Lalo cocks his head slightly. Nacho gets out, fishes in his pocket for his keys. He can hear Lalo getting out of the car, too. The slow click of his loafers against the cement, until he’s right behind him._ _

__Nacho opens the door._ _

__He expects Lalo to grab him or push him up against the wall. Impulsive and Salamanca-like, taking the lead, and what he thinks he owns. But the other man doesn’t, just walks past him and flops down with a sigh, throwing an arm along the top of the couch. The garishness of the leather looks like blood against his skin._ _

__He seems in thought, so Nacho busies himself with picking up stray poker chips on the floor, throwing beer bottles and candy wrappers and cigarette butts into the trash. The girls keep the place a perpetual mess, but he likes it. It makes him feel like it belongs to someone alive._ _

__He does a quick check to make sure no one else is in the house – there isn’t._ _

__Lalo hasn’t moved when he emerges from the bedroom. His head is tipped back, exposing the planes of his neck. Nacho keeps him in his periphery as he opens the fridge. “You want something to drink?”_ _

__Lalo’s gaze flicker to him. “Sure.” His voice is light, but it’s an order._ _

__Nacho swallows. He leans into the chill for a borrowed moment, then goes to sit next to him with the beers._ _

__“You like it up here?” Lalo asks, as Nacho pops off the caps and turns on the TV. “Albuquerque?" He draws out the word. Aaalllllllbuquerque._ _

__“Yeah,” Nacho shrugs. “As much as any place.”_ _

__Lalo laughs, dropping his arm around Nacho’s shoulder. “You don’t have to be shy around me, you know.”_ _

__Another order. Nacho subtly leans against the firmness of his chest, presses his leg against Lalo’s. He can feel the warmth from Lalo’s body – proof that he’s human, and as real as Amber, who had curled up with him last night in this same spot, said she loved him, said she couldn’t wait to see him again._ _

__Lalo’s hand drifts further down, underneath the collar of his shirt, to where the bullet is still lodged. Nacho lets out a groan as Lalo lazily massages his shoulder. Even like this, halfheartedly exerting himself, he has a wiry strength._ _

__Nacho’s eyes slip shut. When Victor and Tyrus left him in the desert, he never lost consciousness. He’d known exactly where he was. He could smell his blood and vomit and sweat. He heard the coyotes, far off. Every time he felt the world turning to static, he thought about his father and how there wouldn’t ever be a body for him to see, mourn._ _

__"Stay with me, Nachito.”_ _

__Lalo’s fingers are precise, kneading the sore muscles. It feels good, too good, and he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Lalo hums, resting his chin on top of Nacho's head._ _

__Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the outline of Lalo’s erection against his jeans._ _

__“Can I touch you?” Nacho asks._ _

__Lalo pauses for a long moment; the TV garbles on._ _

__“No,” he tells him, and then he’s coaxing Nacho down until he’s flat on his back, one leg dangling off the edge of the couch._ _

__“What’re you—”_ _

__Lalo removes his gun from his waistband and kneels, smiling. “Relax, relax.”_ _

__He unfastens Nacho’s belt buckle and fly, slides his jeans and underwear down, and takes him into his mouth._ _

__Nacho groans, loud, and bites his lip to shut himself up. He grasps at the cushion beneath him as Lalo sucks his dick slowly, tongue raking over his head, until he’s completely fattened in his mouth. He keeps the pace maddeningly slow, for fuck knows how long, and Nacho can’t help jerking upward, once, twice. Lalo seems to almost laugh at that, and he pins Nacho’s hips down with his hands, taking him in deeper, until his forehead is brushing Nacho’s stomach._ _

__He nearly grabs a fistful of Lalo’s hair._ _

__“I’m gonna—”_ _

__Lalo makes a vague sound, like he doesn’t give a shit, and oh god— Nacho’s mind goes completely blank, lights dancing beneath his eyelids—_ _

__It takes him a minute to catch his breath, afterward. Lalo leaves him there like that and wanders to the kitchen, opening drawers, the fridge._ _

__“You don’t have anything here,” he says to Nacho, sounding almost petulant._ _

__It takes Nacho two tries to buckle his belt. His legs are wobbly but he follows him, out of instinct, maybe._ _

__“Next time, Ignacio, we need to make sure you’re all stocked up.” Lalo laughs. His lips are still wet. “Jesus, what do you eat?”_ _

__Next time, Nacho thinks, as the night continues to pool into the kitchen. His shoulder doesn’t ache, for once. Next time._ _


	2. Chapter 2

Mango popsicles. That’s what Nacho thinks about when Lalo starts asking him about Domingo. If he’d ever been inside before, could he keep his mouth shut. 

He used to run around Tampico Furniture with Domingo. They played hide and seek while Domingo’s father and his men did inventory, moved in new items. Domingo was never any good. He kept hiding in the same places, giggling whenever Nacho got close. His favorite spot was inside an old wardrobe nobody was ever gonna buy, tucked in the back of the shop. 

They couldn’t have been older than ten or eleven when, after devouring the mango popsicles they snuck in, Domingo leaned over and kissed him, clumsy and sticky. Nacho put his hand on Domingo's cheek. They’d laughed it off after, staring at their knees knocking together, and they’d never talked about it since. 

“Domingo’s solid,” Nacho tells Lalo. “And I know this guy, a lawyer, we can send to tell him what to do.” 

Lalo finishes his tacos and tilts his chair back, gazing up at the ceiling. It’s another hot day; there’s a bead of sweat leisurely rolling into the hollow of his neck. 

Taking his silence as a yes, Nacho stands. “I’ll get the lawyer.” He gestures to Lalo’s empty plate. “You want some more?” 

Lalo lets the chair legs fall back onto the floor with a thud, and fixes Nacho with one of his cat-like smiles. His hand slowly moves up toward Nacho, fingers brushing against his chest as he grasps Nacho’s shirt, just below the collar. 

“No, I think I want something sweet, don’t you?” 

He pulls him, or Nacho leans down, or maybe both. 

\-- 

Lalo doesn’t sleep. Or at least, Nacho never catches him sleeping. He tried once, only to pass out around 4am. When he woke, Lalo was still awake next to him, scrawling in his journal. 

In the end, Nacho decides not to be worried. It's not like Lalo's the kind to smother people with pillows. It’d be a bullet to the brain you’d see coming, just like his uncle taught him. And, well, Nacho knows if _he’s _ever caught, it’d be endlessly more personal. A knife creeping in between his ribs. Lalo’s hands around his throat.__

__The DEA finds the $700K. Fring goes quiet; business resumes. Things are steady, maybe even normal, but Nacho's dreaming more vividly, when he does sleep. Running from gunshots in a narrowing tunnel. Blue desert sky spinning. Tonight, he’s watching his father crumple to the ground, life draining out of him, and he’s screaming, screaming—_ _

__He bolts up, snatching his gun on the nightstand and pointing it at the nearest person in his periphery – Lalo._ _

__It takes him a few seconds to blink the sleep out of his eyes. Then he registers Lalo, who’s just staring back at him, eyebrow slightly raised._ _

__“Shit.” Nacho drops the gun, presses his hands against his face. He flings the blanket back and half-stumbles out of bed, retreating to the shower. He cranks the heat up, lets the roar of the water overtake him._ _

__A few minutes later, the glass door slides open._ _

__“Ignacio, Ignacio. I think you need to let off some steam.”_ _

__Nacho wipes his eyes, turning around. It’s the first time he’s seeing Lalo naked, all of him: the muscled expanse of his torso, the sharp angles of his hips. Scar on his leg, the kind you get from digging out a bullet. Despite everything, Nacho's dick hardens, sinfully fast. He grabs the back of Lalo’s head and pulls him down for a kiss, their noses crashing. It feels like more of a punch. Lalo growls and kisses him back, bites his bottom lip almost hard enough to bleed._ _

__They rut against each other for a few, mad seconds before Nacho decides the shower is too small to do anything productive. He drags Lalo out, back to the bedroom, and Lalo laughs the entire way, letting him, small puddles tracking behind them._ _

__He lets Nacho throw him face-down on the bed and fuck him. There’s a grain of reason in the back of his mind that knows Lalo never does anything without a reason, but he quickly loses that train of thought. Lalo doesn't put on a performance. He just grabs a fistful of the sheets and grunts with each thrust, and Nacho fucks him hard – harder than he would ever dare with Amber, or anyone else._ _

__Afterward, Lalo doesn’t clean himself off, just rolls over on top of him. He’s sweaty, and heavy, but his necklace is a cool, thin line, right over Nacho’s heart._ _

__“These sheets are filthy,” Nacho says._ _

__“Go back to sleep, Ignacio.”_ _

__

__\--_ _

__

__Mike doesn’t look happy. “You’re playing with fire.”_ _

__“You think I don’t know?”_ _

__“So you couldn’t have thought of, I don’t know, any other way to gain his trust?”_ _

__“Look, it’s not like I’m just lying around all day keeping his bed warm. There’s been other gangs trying to kick up trouble here and there, the usual shit. We’ve been handling it.”_ _

__“We?”_ _

__“Yeah, he usually insists on coming with me, seeing things firsthand.”_ _

__Mike makes one of his gruff noises, completely unintelligible._ _

__Nacho crosses his arm, kicks at the loose gravel. “At least he’s not shooting me and leaving me to bleed out in the middle of nowhere.” Nacho knows he should stop, but he can’t. “Or threatening to kill my family.”_ _

__Mike’s scowl darkens. “Kid-”_ _

__“I know what I’m doing.”_ _

__“You don't,” Mike says. “Now, I’d say he’s well in the honeypot by now, so is there a reason all these, little, sleepovers are still happening?”_ _

__Nacho thinks about the press of Lalo’s body on top him; the weight lulling him to sleep. Sometimes Lalo hummed, indistinct melodies he said were from a life Nacho would never understand, having grown up on this side of the border, after all. And Nacho slept._ _

__He’s quiet for a moment too long. Mike’s expression transforms into something Nacho’s all too familiar with – disappointment._ _

__It twists his guts; he takes a step toward Mike. “What, you think you’re my dad?”_ _

__There’s a second where he’s sure Mike’s gonna punch him. But he just turns and gets back into the car and peels out, the sand kicking up into the gangly trees flanking the road. Nacho watches him get smaller and smaller, until he’s gone, and wishes he had._ _


	3. Chapter 3

Domingo opens the door after two knocks; he nervously scans the empty space behind Nacho. 

“Lalo didn’t send me, don’t worry,” Nacho says. He takes his hands out of his pockets. “I sent me.” 

There’s a whine before Domingo can answer: a puppy’s head emerges at the foot of the door, longing to get out. Domingo scoops him up awkwardly, and both man and beast regard Nacho. 

“You’re quite the pair,” Nacho says.

Domingo looks a little embarrassed. “You wanna come in?” 

There’s new artwork in the hallway – abstract, minimalist shit. Neither pretty or ugly, it all just looks like smoke or fog to Nacho. He doubts Domingo sees much more within the frames, either. Domingo deposits the puppy, a rottweiler, into a sea of chew toys in the living room. 

“He got a name?” 

“Haven’t thought of one yet,” Domingo admits. “He keeps peeing everywhere and scratching up the floor. But he’ll grow. He'll get big.” 

Nacho crouches and the puppy immediately runs over, stuffed drumstick between his jaws. Dogs have always liked Nacho, all his life. He’s never owned one, but there’s a couple strays behind El Michoacáno he makes sure to feed. He scratches him behind the ears. 

“So it wasn’t that bad being inside, right?” he says, phrasing it like a question, but they both know he’s telling Domingo, not asking. 

“Right. I’m good,” Domingo says, quickly. 

The pup nudges Nacho’s hand with a wet nose, curious. Nacho stands. “I should get going. Just wanted to make sure we’re still good for Tuesday.” 

Domingo looks disappointed, and Nacho thinks he knows why – their ‘check-ins’ used to be meals shared over beers, maybe even a movie. They used to actually hang out. 

He has a hand on the doorknob when Domingo suddenly says, haltingly, “I would’ve kept my mouth shut, no matter how long I was in there. I would—you know?” 

_I would never get you hurt. ___

__“Yeah.” Even to his own ears, his voice sounds thin._ _

__The first man Nacho had ever shot in the head was on Tuco's orders. Blood and brains and bone: it had coiled and flowed on the ground like a snake. He'd thought about it every day afterward, until one day he didn't. Now, Nacho can't remember what that guy looked like, not completely, even though he'd personally dug his grave._ _

__He can hear Domingo shifting around. “Well, you and your dad should come over for dinner sometime. My dad, he’s like a broken record about it—”_ _

__“I don’t know.”_ _

__“One of these days,” Domingo says, then, like he actually believes it, and Nacho scoffs, turning._ _

__“You and I, we’re not living to be old men with families. So why pretend?”_ _

__Domingo reacts immediately, shrinking back against the wall, but Nacho knows he doesn’t get it, not really. How could he? He hasn’t seen how he’s going to die._ _

__

__\--_ _

__

__Lalo’s driving today. Fast, as usual. His arm hangs out the car window. Fun runs, he calls them, his idea of a joke. Fring’s bright restaurant sign comes into view as they round the corner, and Nacho's blood pressure immediately skyrockets._ _

__“What’re we doing back here?” he asks._ _

__Lalo doesn’t answer him. He takes up two parking spots and heads inside, Nacho close behind. He doesn’t see Fring behind the counter, but that doesn't steady his nerves._ _

__“Hey, what do you want?” Lalo asks, studying the menu. It sounds like a genuine question._ _

__“I’m good with anything."_ _

__“Dealer’s choice, then!” Lalo flashes him a grin, waves him away._ _

__Nacho chooses a booth near the exit. It’s the dinner rush, but somehow they’d arrived during a brief lull, so Lalo’s ordering right away. Thank god, because Nacho can’t imagine the other man actually _ _waiting in line__. On the other side of the restaurant, a child squeals out as her mother tries to place her in a booster seat. There's a group of teenagers leaving; an old couple takes their table and grimaces at the stray wrappers and crumbs left behind. __

____It’s not long before Lalo sits down with their order. Nacho tries to eat, but the chicken tastes like ash in his mouth. Eventually, he pushes his tray away, and keeps watching the place. Luckily the skinny white manager isn’t here today, and none of the other employees seem to recognize him. Still, he keeps expecting to see Victor or Tyrus lurking around._ _ _ _

____“You done? Your loss.” Lalo tuts, pulling Nacho’s basket to his side of the table. He puts away the food single-mindedly. The moment he's done, he stands and stretches – but Nacho doesn't miss how he glances at the security camera, smirking._ _ _ _

____"Let's get out of here," he tells Nacho._ _ _ _

____Outside, Lalo leans against the hood of the car and takes out a lighter, flicking it on, off, on, off. Nacho's phone chirps. It’s Blingy, rambling about a problem at one of the hideouts._ _ _ _

____"Slow down, slow down," Nacho says, massaging his temple. "Just hold tight."_ _ _ _

____Lalo smile grows. "So where to?"_ _ _ _

____ _ _

____\--_ _ _ _

____ _ _

____It always ends in a fight. This time it's nowhere as bad as the Espinosas, but Nacho still ends up shooting one of the rival gang members, and Lalo another. It's not until they're speeding away that Nacho notices his arm is wet. He rolls up his sleeve and looks down dispassionately at the wound. A graze – fucking great._ _ _ _

____"How bad?" Lalo asks. There's a splatter of red across his cheek, his loafers._ _ _ _

____"It’s not bad," Nacho says. He scrolls through his contacts, thumb hovering over Domingo's name. "I'll have one of the guys come over and help patch it up."_ _ _ _

____Lalo’s gaze seems distant, like he’s flipping a coin in his head. "Put your phone away,” he says, mildly._ _ _ _

____The rest of the drive is silent. Nacho applies pressure and keeps his arm against his stomach so the seat doesn't get dirty. He doesn't recognize the modest house Lalo eventually pulls up at, but then again, it's just like Hector to have a few places only his family would know about._ _ _ _

____"You’ll lay low here, a day, maybe two," Lalo says._ _ _ _

____It's a quiet neighborhood, bathed in the sunset’s last, lingering orange glow. There's a layer of dust over everything inside the house. Lalo has him sit in the bathtub and rest his arm on the rim. He cuts off Nacho's shirt sleeve and cleans out the gash. Nacho sucks in a breath: it's a deeper wound than he realized. Lalo offers him his flask and he takes three big gulps._ _ _ _

____"Marco and Leonel, they tell me stories," Lalo says as he stitches him up with practiced movements. His voice is low, almost like he's talking to himself. "Those boys meet all kinds of people and go on these crazy adventures. Makes me kind of jealous, you know? Anyway, they told me how Marco gave you his blood, back when they found you in the desert."_ _ _ _

____Nacho watches his torn skin inching back together and is reminded of the sewing machines, dutifully punching away in his father’s shop._ _ _ _

____"All this so the chicken trucks stay untouched,” he mumbles._ _ _ _

____“That’s the price,” Lalo agrees, laying down the bandage. He sounds proud and bitter, all rolled in one. The dim light casts shadows, angular and strange, across his face. “Enough Salamanca blood to fill an ocean.”_ _ _ _

____Nacho gingerly stretches his arm as Lalo stands, washing his hands at the sink._ _ _ _

____“Why don’t you stay,” Nacho says, getting out of the tub. He manages not to stumble but he winces at how his words are slurred. His head is already cloudy from the booze, and he’s never liked the thoughts that come with it._ _ _ _

____“Just tonight,” he says, off of Lalo’s bemused expression, and he captures his wrist loosely in his grip. Lalo doesn’t pull away._ _ _ _

____There’s a moment later in bed when something in Lalo’s face changes, and Nacho thinks he’s been made. But Lalo just leans down and he’s close, close. Lalo kisses his eyelid, the corner of his mouth, his jaw. He tries kissing his neck. Nacho’s ticklish there so he jerks, and they both laugh, breathlessly._ _ _ _

____All the rooms in the house are bare, only just enough furniture to avoid arousing suspicion. Nacho tries to imagine Lalo living here, or anywhere, but all he can muster up is the image of him cooking in a kitchen, towel slung over his shoulder._ _ _ _

____“Has anyone actually lived in this house?” he asks, into the silence._ _ _ _

____Lalo raises his head. “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”_ _ _ _

____Nacho reaches up with his good arm and runs his hand through Lalo’s hair. The gel’s starting to come loose. He loses track of how long they kiss. When they finally pull away from each other, panting, Lalo looks dazed, and Nacho can’t help feeling a swell of pride._ _ _ _

____Whatever Fring has planned for Lalo, it can’t be good. He knows he’s only supposed to be watching this war progress, move by move. He can even hear Mike’s stern voice – _kid, you’re gonna get caught in the crossfire _.___ _ _ _

______He exhales, eyes slipping shut._ _ _ _ _ _

______ _ _ _ _

______\--_ _ _ _ _ _

______ _ _ _ _

______So when Lalo asks, “Can you get the seven mil?”, Nacho says yes._ _ _ _ _ _

______Nacho loads the gray bags into the trunk of his beater car, and sets off away from the well. It’s not long before he notices his tail, and then right after, two more cars pull in front of him and block the road, kicking up a plume of dust. It all happens quickly and neatly. Shit. Was this Fring’s doing? –but Fring wouldn’t send a bunch of hired muscle, he'd just pick up the phone and call Nacho..._ _ _ _ _ _

______He should’ve brought another guy with him._ _ _ _ _ _

______They motion for him to get out. Nacho does, not bothering to conceal his gun. There's a guy standing directly in front of him, stocky shoulders and a large tattoo winding across his neck. He smiles thinly at Nacho and walks past him, toward the trunk._ _ _ _ _ _

______Nacho doesn’t know who they are, or how they found him, but he knows the moment they confirm the money’s there, he’s dead. He clenches his jaw, trying to come up with a plan. Maybe he could get a shot off—_ _ _ _ _ _

______And then there’s a spray of bullets from somewhere up above. Tattoo guy crumples, skull blown open. The rest start shouting, frantic, shooting back. Nacho crouches, one hand braced against his car. He sees one of them still scrambling to get to cover and shoots him in the back._ _ _ _ _ _

______One by one, the men around him fall. The air is thick with the smell of rust. Nacho doesn’t think anymore – doesn’t have to. Survive this fight, get ready for the next. He throws his pistol aside and grabs a dead guy’s assault rifle instead. One of the remaining men steps out from behind his truck, firing off several desperate rounds, but he’s forgotten about Nacho. Nacho shoots him in the head._ _ _ _ _ _

______And then it goes quiet. He hears a car approaching. Slow, measured footsteps. Nacho tenses his finger on the trigger, takes a deep breath. It sounds like only one person - a sniper – but there could be more. He waits until the footsteps are just close enough, and then he jumps up—_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Are you shitting me?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Mike just looks at him from beneath the brim of his hat. “A thank you would be nice.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______He’s right, of course, but Nacho allows himself to feel annoyed before relief takes over. Nacho takes a good look around, at all the bodies. His beater was left unscathed, luckily. It’s then that he hears someone coughing, gasping. He turns: it’s the man he shot in the back. Nacho walks over._ _ _ _ _ _

______He’s choking on his blood. Nacho aims at his forehead. The single gunshot echoes, somehow louder to Nacho than the gunfight that had just happened._ _ _ _ _ _

______ _ _ _ _

______“Is that all of them?” he asks. He drops the rifle and finds his pistol, the weight familiar in his hand. He’s tucking it back in his waistband when another gunshot rings out._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Now it is,” Mike says, approaching. “You got the money?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Nacho nods. He watches Mike fiddle around with the fuel cap of his car, taking something slim out. “You were tracking me?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Mike’s not listening to him. Nacho follows his gaze, and sees Mike’s truck, the tank pierced with holes. Gasoline dribbling onto the ground._ _ _ _ _ _

______Wordlessly, Mike grabs his gear and slides in the passenger seat of Nacho’s car. Nacho gets in after a minute. He almost flinches; the seats are already hot as shit from being under the sun all this time. He slams the door shut, wipes the sweat from his brow._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Well, let’s get that money to where it needs to be,” Mike says, matter-of-factly, as if something like this happens every day._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Why not ask Victor or Tyrus for a lift?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“You think there’s any service out here?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“You should’ve brought another guy with you.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“You should’ve too.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“I’ll take you to the nearest truck stop,” Nacho says, after a pause. “We’re fucked if someone sees us together. And you’ll have your guys clean up the mess here?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Mike rubs his face, and in that motion he looks entirely his age, every year of it. “Just...drive, kid. I promised my granddaughter I would take her to the zoo today.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Nacho stares at him, speechless, but the old man keeps looking ahead glumly. Nacho sighs and turns on the ignition, and drives, the carnage disappearing behind them._ _ _ _ _ _


End file.
